


Why I Was There

by LadyMD



Series: Different Roads Sometimes Lead to the Same Castle [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coming of Age, Courage, Family, Gen, Rickon POV, Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 09:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8138662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMD/pseuds/LadyMD
Summary: In which we get a glimpse of the youngest Stark's thoughts on being the heir, a brother, and what it means to be a Stark. Rickon Stark has hidden in Last Hearth under the care of the Umbers for three years where he did most of his growing up. News of his sister, Sansa returning to Winterfell stirred something in him. And when he receives news later on that she escaped, he knew what he must do. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.(Companion one-shot to Where Will We Go? But can stand alone.)





	

_**Rickon** _

 

" _Sansa_ is in Winterfell? My older sister, Sansa? Is that _true_ , my Lord?"

I looked up at Lord Jon "Smalljon" Umber, the current Lord of Last Hearth who has been my keeper since me and my brother Bran parted ways. It's been three years since I became their _ward_.

" _Robb's at war and I'm going beyond the Wall. If something happens to us, you're the heir to Winterfell," Bran said_

But Robb was long dead. Bran may still be beyond the Wall as he says. Did he find the Three-eyed Raven? My sisters…

I bit back a sigh. At one-and-ten, I was until today, the _pre-pre-what-_ I fumbled with the words. I bit my tongue. I was the _presumptive_ heir to Winterfell.

And I was in _hiding._

Part of me felt guilty of being relieved I wasn't pushed to go back to the home I could barely remember now any time soon. Nearly _six_ years. I was too _wild_ and with little instruction. I was given though some freedom here and some lessons there for the _living heir to Winterfell._

But more than that, more than feeling and _being_ unworthy of it, accepting that was like the final nail to the coffin. Acceptance that I was the heir meant accepting that all of my siblings were _dead._

" _They've all gone away," I told Bran._

" _They'll be back soon," he said._

" _No, they won't."_

Just like that the guilt came back. With those three words, I've doomed us all in one childish bitter breath.

I've always wondered how they were all doing. If they were warm, if they were safe, if they were together. But with all the things I've seen and done… I doubt it. We weren't in Winterfell. We were alone in different directions. Lone wolves away from home – but I remember Bran's words to me. With Bran's parting words, I _swore_ I would do better. So I did what was asked. I bit back complaints. I had to be grateful. I had to be deserving.

_But now Sansa…_

I didn't know if I was horrified or happy with the news that my eldest sister was back in Winterfell. Winterfell was currently held by traitors that bore flayed men as their sigils. Traitors as they were, they _did_ drive away the Ironborn from the North, and most probably killed the biggest traitor of them all, _Theon Greyjoy._ But there was little victory to rejoice in that ve-vengeance – I searched for the word. The Boltons were the ones who killed my older brother and my mother.

_Traitors._

If there was one word, I knew the most it was the word _Traitor._

_Traitors._

_All_ of them.

Was my Lord Father horrible to have men taking arms against what remains of his family? Taking what was theirs for their own?

At that realization, I have decided on what I was really feeling with the news.

_I clenched my hands at my sides, and did my level best not to shake._

The Lord of Last Hearth looked at me grimly and huffed, studying me before he spoke. It was one word but it was enough to bring so much ice and chill over my blood, over my bones.

"Aye," he said.

I gritted my teeth, my temper rising and had I been back at Winterfell and in-line to Lordship, I would've yelled my opinion and screamed my demands.

But I wasn't.

So I had to find the very best parts of myself to _tame_ the beast. A difficult thing, as being on the run for so long has unleashed it to the hilt. All my anger, wild and free and unchecked then. Though through the last three years, I've managed to temper it, it was still there. Waiting. Anger at what? _Everything._ Osha could only do so much to remind me I was a Lord. A Wildling reminding me to be who I was couldn't have been a strong battle when I practically grew to knowledge with nothing but wildness out there against the cold. I _wanted_ to go back to it. Embrace the freedom as it embraced my rage.

But I wasn't.

Thank the gods that Shaggydog was with Osha, hunting as my friend watched. If he was here…

I swallowed and counted to ten. "What does it _mean_ , my lord?"

I waited with bated breath. Bracing for what I knew was more bad news. Bad news always followed a Stark nowadays. It was expected. The moment Father went South, all things went to shit. Yes, I was allowed to be base in my head. Always in my head. The only freedom I am given. Shit as it was. I almost felt guilty because Sansa, my pretty sister – my second mother, was in my thoughts and she would chast-chastis- _I swore as I struggled with the right word –_ get _mad_ at me if she heard my vulgarity. Vulgarity. _That_ wordI knew very well.

Same as _treachery, profanity, and bastardry._

My heart lurched.

_Stand straight, Rickon. Keep control of your body, and your eyes calm. Do not give yourself away, brother. You are third in line should it come to it. Think ice, think cold._

Yes. Yes, older sister. Thank you for reminding me.

I calmed myself and stood impassive as an ice wall before him, awaiting his answer.

He noticed the change. And I swear I could see something flash in his eyes before looking grimly once more but now with careful regard in his eyes.

 _And grimness._ I knew grimness. At six years old I've seen _death._ All _kinds_ of death.

"Your sister is to be wed to Roose Bolton's bastard, Ramsey," he finally answered in a blank tone, yet there was unmistakable disgust when he said _wed._

 _Disgust._ Filth. Sickness. I knew them too. And my sister marrying the bastard? _Vile._ That's it. It was _vile._

All resolve broke away then as my eyes widened and my mouth hung as I processed his words. Surely there was something wrong. A mistake.

"But – But the bastard is a known _monster!_ And I don't think my sister would be far from agreeable to marry the son of our brother's murderer! Tell me this isn't true!" I screamed at him, a foot inched closer to approach him, the other I held in place.

He shook his head. "They will wed."

No.

A chill crept my bones, crawling from my feet, to my spine, to my arms, and I am numb.

"W-why? Why would she come back to Winterfell? She was kidnapped, wasn't she? Now she's being _forced_ to marry the bastard?" my voice broke but the hysteria was threatening and I knew that even if this was a horrifying assumption, it was the only explanation I could accept.

He let out a sigh of impatience. "She wasn't kidnapped. She was _willing._ From what I heard was witnessed."

I froze.

_it can't be._

My mind was racing, each thought added a new dread to the one that was already building.

Lord Umber then let out a deep breath and stood up to leave.

The beast was back.

"And you _mean_ to do _nothing?_ You'd _allow_ my sister, the _Lady_ of Winterfell, the _rightful_ Wardeness to the North marry the bastard _monster_? And not just any bastard monster, but the _bastard_ of my brother's _killer?_ You are _okay_ with _this?_ It's as good as handing over Winterfell to the hands of that traitor house!" I lashed out at him, my chest heaving, my eyes seeing red.

He didn't flinch but I saw the surprise and maybe even respect flash in his eyes before he looked at me, stone hard, his mouth a deep frown before he spoke.

"What do you mean to do, little wolf? You want us to take up arms? Rescue your sister?"

I knew he was being sa-s _ardonic_ but I saw that it was half-hearted when I saw the truth.

We didn't have the men.

_Sansa._

I felt weak.

The last time I saw Sansa was the day before they left for the South. My sister was pretty and happy and the future queen. I did not understand much that time but I remember she was smiling that day. I remember her arms when she hugged me for the last time, I remember her soft hands on my hair as she brushed it for the last time, I remember when she kissed my cheek telling me she promised to write that I must learn to reply. She showed me she brought the wooden dragonknight I gave her. She gave me a blue handkerchief with Shaggydog's face stitched in the middle. I had long lost it. Now I wish I held on to it more closely.

I shook my head.

And I remember that among my siblings, she was the one who was the gentlest to me. Whenever I asked for a song, she would get her harp and sing to me. Any song I wished.

I was very young. Too young and too much years have passed that I hardly remember what she looked like.

I hardly remembered what they _all_ looked like.

But Sansa…

I remember red hair like my mother, like Robb, like Bran, like me… but hers was a lighter red, like the top blaze of fresh lit fire. And smiles…warm smiles, and sweet singing... when I look at myself in the mirror I look closely and see if I could see Robb… or Sansa…Bran… _Mother…_ with the red in my hair and the blue of my eyes. Then when I moved, I tried to be like Jon. Quiet and dutiful. While trying my damnedness to tame the Arya in me and resist the de- _defiance_ until I was on rare moments allowed to be out in the snow and my restlessness would mirror my other sister's if even for a moment but those moments were the kindest. Then once its passed, I would hear Sansa while I stilled my back once more.

_My sweet baby brother._

She would call me and I would make a face each time. _I'm not a baby._ And she would laugh – I remember her tinkling laugh.

She would baby me and I did well to resist being doted on never mind that I secretly loved her soft hands. My brothers were always rough when we played all of us proving to be tough and as wild as the wolves of our House. I can add my sister Arya to that too. Oh how we've played. In the snow, in the hot springs, by the Godswood, at the courtyard…

But it was my eldest sister who would help me bathe, and dress my cuts, her hands always soft and tender.

But it was also my eldest sister who would make me feel like a little lord. Ordering me to keep still _, keep clean, and keep strong_. No matter how much teasing I got from my other older siblings, she would tell me to _'Ignore them, Rickon. Who knows if when you grow up you will best them in all things.'_

And I would look at her with earnest and she would hint a smile, raised brow, raised chin, _'Of course, only if you stick to lessons and do as I say.'_

I always did.

Do what she asked that is.

 _Most_ of the time, anyway.

She was the _only_ one who could make me apart from my mother and father. How could I not when she always looked at me with those kindest blue eyes that shone with pride whenever I do something right?

Robb tried. He really did. Before he left to call arms, he spoke to me in my room. "Be brave little brother. Protect mother. Protect Bran."

I was mad at him for leaving. When mother kept to Bran, I clung to him. And cried and cried. Too many things were changing. And then he was gone and I tried to be brave but when they all left, only anger comforted me.

My anger? How was I able to tame it all these years? What drove me to _try_ really _try_ to do my lessons now? Act like a proper lordling instead of the boy who grew up practically a wildling?

_It was Sansa._

It was Sansa and her voice in my mind. Her voice the only thing from home that I could remember clearly as I remember her singing at my requests. And her warm smile was the smile I could remember when I did something right.

I remember one time I saw her sad and remembered that not once did I see my sister without a smile. And I remember that my siblings were mad about something. I didn't understand what it was but I understood that someone hurt my sister.

I remember feeling mad that someone made my sister sad. My sister never did anything wrong or harm anyone. Someone who sings so sweet should never feel sad. I didn't like it. So I happily helped Bran and Arya with revenge.

Then I wanted to make my sister smile. So I gave her my favorite wooden knight.

" _Keep Aemon the Dragonknight, sister. He'll keep you safe next time someone makes you sad."_

_She laughed and hugged me tight before ruffling my hair and kissing my cheek. "I'm sure he would but I believe my little wolf would protect me better than any knight someday. Thank you brother. I believe you are not a baby anymore."_

And I remember feeling so brave and honorable and proud when she smiled at me with approval. And how father and mother clapped my back and hugged me as well when Sansa showed them what I gave her.

It was the first time I felt like a Lord.

"Winterfell will have a Stark again, at least. It's been years."

My eyes snapped at him and I couldn't help but glare. I was _here_ the whole time. I _could've_ been the Stark that came back but I couldn't. Not that I was all that eager or ready.

"But their – their sons will be _Boltons!"_ I shook with rage. "How can you be okay with this? The Boltons are traitors! Do you swear to _them_ now?"

" _Careful_ , little wolf. Umbers have _always_ been loyal to House Stark. Are we not sheltering the heir to Winterfell?" He answered firmly, with a hint of something I couldn't place.

I shook my head. "Sansa is alive. _Bran_ is alive. And I have no word that Arya Is dead. I am _far_ down the line."

"But by then end of this war, you might end up as it is. Little wolf, as far as we are concerned, you are the _last_ known _son_ of Lord Stark."

"Jon is still alive," I pointed out.

"Yes. The _Bastard."_ Then I saw that his jaw was clenched and his eyes were suddenly angry. But now was not the time to address that. Sansa's case was more important.

"Sansa is the _heir._ And I can't believe that this union wasn't _forced,"_ I practically shouted.

"Be that as it may, _Wolfling,"_ I stopped then and tried to calm down at the change in tone.

"It is what it is. And we can't stop it," he said with finality.

_This can't stand._

"Then bring me to her. I have to see it myself. And she would want a family member to give her away. I will do it. I'll help her. Father always said the pack survives. If she is there, I should be too," I didn't know where the courage came from and where the stupidity started. This was both stupid and brave, I know. But I _had_ to see it. I _have_ to be there. I _need_ to be there.

He looked at me incredulously. "No _._ If anything should happen, you are the true Lord of Winterfell."

I gaped at him.

"You speak as if my sister will die soon, my Lord," I spat at him.

He didn't speak nor move, nor deny.

"I can't just stand by! You can't mean –

"It's a _kindness_ if she were to die before she weds the sadistic bastard," He said gruffly. "But if he has some sense in him, he'll keep your sister unharmed and alive if they mean to hold the North _._ "

My eyes widened and my body trembled.

"But in any case, according to my men who were there when your sister arrived…she was a brave thing. A very beautiful brave thing. She looked like your mother, but with your father's eyes. Those eyes never faltered, they said. And she was bloody courteous. She looked your brother's killer in the eyes and graced the fucker with a polite smile but my men swore that there was ice in her eyes and frost in her smile," he said slowly and determined.

I faltered then as I took in his words, my rigidness giving way.

He shook his head and let out a grunt. "Maybe your sister has a plan. Maybe not. Maybe she didn't have a choice in seven hells. But nothing showed that she was unwilling to go through it. Maybe a Stark has finally come back to Winterfell _against_ all cost."

My eyes lowered, my hands unclenched with a shaky breath. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell."

"Aye. And there is," he agreed.

I swallowed. "But I don't believe that she is safe. Not even in our own home."

He looked at me then and finally I saw something in his stance. "No. She is not."

I turned around then and the same madness threatened to get out of my skin once more when I felt his hand on my shoulder. I didn't look at him.

"Go to the Godswood, little wolf. Pray for your sister. Pray for your family. There is nothing we can do but pray she has a plan. Pray that she endures."

I tore away from his hand on my shoulder and started walking away.

"A Stark _always_ endures."

 

* * *

 

 

It's been several moons already and I have not heard a word from what happened to my sister. Whenever I asked, they would evade and deflect and push me to my lessons they have generously provided and _insisted_ I take or busy themselves with the increasing number of Wildlings attacking.

_Something was wrong._

I asked if she was alive at least and with something in their eyes I could not place, they would always say she was and nothing more.

On top of this, I was having more and more wolf dreams.

At night I would be inside Shaggy's mind. Hunting. Most of the time hunting.

But sometimes, I was searching.

Searching for something I didn't know what, following a trail I didn't recognize.

Until one night I finally did.

It was Winterfell.

Shaggydog let out a wild and loud feral howl.

Then I heard it.

I heard a long shaky howl back.

And then I realized it wasn't.

It was a scream.

_Sansa's._

I woke up sweaty and shaken.

I realized that Shaggydog has been gone for a week.

_Something was definitely wrong._

The hairs at the back of my neck stood up as I remembered the bloodcurdling scream.

Then I remembered Bran.

I remembered how his eyes turned white when he…what was it called?

I shook my head. That wasn't important.

What's important is that I _knew_ my wolf was in Winterfell. And if I could _do_ it too.

When father died Bran and I saw his ghost in the crypts in a dream. He had wolf dreams, and so did I.

Maybe…

So I calmed myself and laid back, relaxing my mind and focusing on Shaggydog. Focusing on the dream.

I closed my eyes and took deep slow breaths, releasing all other thoughts but one.

And the next I opened my eyes, I was standing in front of the Broken Tower.

_The echoes of screams and cries filled the night air._

 

* * *

 

"He's _hurting_ her," I said in a low voice, my fists clenched at my sides but doing my damnedness to keep level.

The Lord of Last Hearth's eyes were hard and unyielding except for the sudden clasp of his hand on the edge of his seat.

"I want to call up arms. We should call on my brother Jon too. If what I hear is true, the Wildlings follow him. We _have_ men. We can call the Glovers, the Manderlys, we _can_ reclaim Winterfell," I slammed a hand on the table.

He rose up then and towered over me. "We will _not_ ally with _savages!"_

"A _savage_ saved my life! And they can _help_ us take back the North!" I said not backing down. I will not. Not when I have heard enough. _Seen_ enough.

Rage bubbled in me and ice gathered in my heart.

_Why wasn't anything being done?_

_Does their hatred for the Wildlings weigh more than their loyalty to my family?_

_My sister – I gritted my teeth – my sister was being tortured in her own home!_ Does that do _nothing_ for them? Did they really _love_ my father? Did they really _respect_ Robb?

_The Umbers are our bannermen. They'll protect you._

Bran told us to go to the Umbers. And he was right. I'm still alive because of them. I understood that I couldn't go back to Winterfell – our castle torched to the ground. But now that it stands once more, and my brother and mother butchered, it was seized by the Boltons. I knew I can't go back. I knew it wasn't safe.

Here in Last Hearth, I was _safe._ To great lengths, I was kept _safe._ And I would be forever grateful for their loyalty. But Sansa…

_Why couldn't they extend the same to my sister? My own blood?_

"If you are loyal to my house, we _will_ march to Winterfell on _my_ command!"

"Your _sister_ is the one who is recognized, _Wolfling_. As far as the people know, you are _dead._ And you _will_ be if you continue this nonsense!"

"Then all the more reason to go to her! Unseat the Boltons! _Save_ Sansa Stark!" my chest was heaving and I was likely red but I have to convince them. I _have_ to.

"Your sister is _alive._ Which is more than I can say for the others."

I scoffed. "Alive? By what is being _done_ to her, it'd be a better kindness if she were dead!"

He kept silent.

I gaped at him. "You will – you will just _fucking_ stand by and _wait_ for them to _kill_ her? And then what? That's our signal to out me? To finally call arms?" I looked at him then with disgust.

He still did not say anything.

"Why _not?_ We can gather the men! We can _win!_ Why _wait?_ She's still alive! We can _save_ her! _"_ I persisted. "If they _knew_ another Stark was alive and I tell them that my older brother Bran was still out there then the people will rally for us! And we _need_ to rally. My brother Bran and I – we've _seen_ things. We need to unite the North – _we –_

He slammed both palms to the table that creaked with the force.

"That is enough. If you are going to say something about the White Walkers again, you can stop. They're not real. You were starving, freezing, and sick in the cold and _young_ ," he huffed.

I shook my head. "I may not remember many things, but not _that._ But fine. I'm here to speak about my sister anyway. Why. won't. you. _help_. her? _"_

He stood stiff and impatient. "We _can't."_

Then he let out a breath and looked more sympathetic. "I'm sorry."

All fight left me then. Smalljon Umber was one of the strongest men I knew. Brave and loyal and at _risk._ I reminded myself. I bit my cheek.

This was the man who helped me. Kept at least one Stark alive and safe and comfortable. At _great_ risk. And I knew he was dealing with more Wildling attacks nowadays while keeping eyes at the rest of the North.

"Maybe if I write my brother Jon – he'll…"

"He'll what? Return the Wildlings back beyond the wall? He's taken to them, little wolf. I don't see this ending well. The North has little love for them. And my men will be the hardest to convince. Last Hearth has always been the first to hold the resistance against them. To fight _with_ them now? No," he explained with a hard shake of his head.

"And we can't risk the Boltons knowing you are alive. If they do, they'll kill your sister. Right then and there, they'll kill her. Then they'll kill us all. They have the _crown's_ favor. Do you understand me? They'll _kill_ her."

I bit back my tears and I knew I was trembling but I couldn't speak. What was there to say?

I felt hands on my shoulders and I had to look up. Sansa would want me to be brave right now.

"You understand, Rickon Stark?"

With a hard nod, and harder eyes I answered through clenched teeth. "I. understand."

"Good. It's not that we're turning a blind eye. House Umber is loyal to the Starks. We will keep you safe as long as we are able. But I am also the Lord of my own House. And I mean to keep my home safe too. If there was any other way, we'll do it. But there's none," he said and I saw guilt in his dark eyes for a moment.

_I'm sorry Sansa._

_I tried._

 

* * *

 

 

_Oh thank the gods! Finally, the gods have listened!_

_Sansa escaped and was now with Jon at Castle Black._

_Oh thank the gods, there was a Stark pack in the North once more!_

My heart soared and hope flared. "What are we waiting for? It's time to call up arms! Let's take back the North from the Boltons! "

I was suddenly taken aback from the conflicted expression on Lord Umber's face.

"I don't understand. Haven't they called for aid yet?"

He shook his head. "No, little wolf. And you are a fool if you think they would be safe at the Wall. The Bolton bastard would never let this go. Not when this slight embarrassed him so – driven his Stark bride to run away. No, this would not sit well with the alliance."

"Then – then all the more reason to call up arms. They are vulnerable and questionable," though I said that proudly my brows still furrowed as I tried to make sense of his words.

"Vulnerable," he snorted. "Questionable, yes. But with five thousand men along with the Karstarks of all houses. _And_ the crown's favor," he grunted.

"You have a thousand men. And there are other Houses that are loyal to us. And we have Jon's alliances with the wildlings. If _you_ help me, help us, the other houses can rally easy," I tried to say as calmly as possible and as convincing.

He stood up and eyed me, suffering a drawn out patience. "The wind is getting colder, the nights even longer, and the people are restless. We are at the mercy of the Boltons, little wolf. And the crown favors them. And we need resources," he said slowly and measured.

My eyes widened and narrowed. But I understood what he was trying to say.

"Winter is coming," I muttered.

He clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Aye. Your house said it better than most."

And suddenly I knew what I had to do.

I can't be here anymore.

I can't hide any longer.

It's time.

"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell," I mumbled.

"What's that boy?"

I looked up at him then with all the will and courage I had. "There must _always_ be a Stark in Winterfell."

He looked at me confused then.

"Bring me home. Take me there," I said my voice never faltering one bit.

He sighed a long breath and readied himself to chastise me. "I told you we can't fight."

I shook my head, keeping my eyes on his. "I didn't tell you to bring me there with an army. I asked you to _bring_ me _there."_

His eyes widened in shock as he understood. "Hand you over, you mean?"

"Yes," I replied without missing a beat.

"Do you realize what you are asking, Rickon?" he cocked his head.

I gave a hard nod. "Yes. Bring me there. It'll give Sansa and Jon _time._ And it will give you protection. They will come for me. I don't think I'll be killed at any case. Not right away. They just lost a Stark hostage, they can't afford to lose another."

He looked at me sternly but I could tell he judged my words. "What good will being his prisoner do?"

"He'll use me as leverage. Bait. Ransom. Whatever he needs me to do. The bastard is now unchecked with his father dead. And I know my family. I _know_ why Sansa allowed the union." _I've seen it. I've seen her. Bran showed me._ I wanted to say.

"And why is that?" he humored me.

"She did it to _retake_ Winterfell. Though her plan failed and she has suffered through it, she never broke. She was _brave._ She _endured._ She endured as she was the only Stark in Winterfell that time. And I know that she'll want to come _back._ Take _everything_ back. But they need more motive. More motive for the North to rally behind them," I couldn't believe how level I was saying all these.

The Lord of Last Hearth studied me long and hard, respect even crossing his features. I didn't need his respect. I needed him to bring me to Winterfell.

"You sound so sure, little wolf," he finally spoke.

"I am," I said firmly.

"How sure are you that your sister and brother wouldn't turn tail and run away? And your brother has not abandoned the Wall, not even when your older brother called up arms."

"Perhaps he still might not. But my _sister_ would. And if she can't convince him with her words, she would convince him with her _scars._ And he'll do it. He won't refuse. Not when he sees what was done to her and what could be done to me." I glared at him then, my nails digging into my palms.

"They'll think you're likely to be killed, do you really think you can come out of this alive?" he raised a brow.

I almost let out a sigh. I knew this too but I had to be ice. The things Sansa endured and sacrificed… she'll know. "Sansa… She'll know I won't be able to make it. Or that there's little chance. But they need a motive, as I've said."

"But what you're asking me is for me to betray House Stark," he frowned.

"It's just for show," I shook my head. "If we are successful, Ramsay Bolton will be dead by the morning from our arrival."

"And how would he be dead, boy? You'll kill him yourself?" he scoffed.

"No. _I_ will."

I smirked and didn't bother to turn to greet the Wildling woman, my only friend.

Lord Umber looked from Osha, to me then let out a breath.

"And if you fail?"

"Then you choose the alliance you need, my lord."

His eyes were hard but I knew he considered.

"I know you have no love for my brother Jon, as your hatred for the Wildlings are greater, but in the end, you choose, my lord. Choose who you recognize as the one who holds the North. But you need to do this for me, for our house, right now. This is how you would show your true loyalty to House Stark, bring _me_ to Winterfell. Bring a Stark back to Winterfell. I don't care if you bring me bound and gagged. Bring me," I said straight, true, and steady.

"I would have to bring proof that you are indeed Eddard Stark's son," he finally showed signs of relenting.

My chest tightened but I knew what must be done. I expected this. I already made peace with this. Everything. I knew my fate. I knew my role. I was afraid. Still afraid. Yet, the time for hiding was over. It was time to go home.

I searched his eyes then without giving away my own as I straightened my back once more, and lifted my chin.

"You have my direwolf. Do what you will. But do it yourself, _my lord_ " I said with finality then with a nod and a curt bow, I didn't wait for him to speak, taking my leave.

_I am Rickon Stark of Winterfell and I'm coming home._

 

* * *

 

 

" _Do you like games, little man? Let's play a game. Run to your brother. The sooner you make it to him, the sooner you get to see him again. That's it. That's the game. Easy. Ready. Go. No, you need to run, remember? Those are the rules."_

So I ran.

I ran and I ran.

And I saw him and for a moment I thought I remembered my father.

But it was Jon.

My heart soared with pride to have my faith restored.

They _came._

_Whoosh._

_Thunk._

**The first arrow.**

Of course it would miss.

I knew what he means to do.

And I know I would die by a single shot or by a rain of arrows.

But I will die.

But _not_ in vain.

I pushed and ran full tilt. I had to bring as much distance when I saw Jon charging towards me.

 _Stop_ , I wanted to shout at him.

_Don't._

_It's okay._

_Thunk!_

**The second arrow.**

I bit my lip. Come on Rickon, go _faster._ Unleash the beast.

_Unleash the wolf._

I ran wildly straight, willing myself to keep moving. Go _further_. Push Jon back.

But he kept going.

Faster.

Rage and love in his dark eyes – eyes that was never as alive as before. Eyes that were always quiet and still and calm.

I almost choked a sob feeling very touched.

Very loved.

But I was brave.

Braver.

And afraid.

And hopeful.

But I knew how this ends, one way or another.

_Thwip!_

_Thunk!_

**The third arrow.**

I sped up. And I thought I let out a howl but then I saw Jon clearer now.

He was _so_ close.

So close.

I wanted to yell at him to stay back.

Kill them all.

_Live._

He has to live. 

Live, brother.

Live, _cousin_.

Jon, you must live. 

I've _seen_ it.

_Live_

And most of all take care of S–

" _Ungh!"_

**The final arrow.**

Our eyes met briefly – eyes like my father's…

Arya's

Ice

Take

Take care

Of

San-

 

...

**Author's Note:**

> AN: So during my break, I was about to start on the last chapter of “Where Will We Go?” When I thought about what to do with the other siblings. I wanted to write POVs for them may it be past, during, or beyond my story. I knew how I would write Robb’s, Arya/Jyanna’s, and Bran’s. But I didn’t know how I would write Sansa’s and most of all, Rickon’s. But then, the words and images kept coming and before I knew it, I was done. I actually intended to release the one-shot companion pieces in this order: Bran’s, Arya’s, Robb’s, Rickon’s, then Sansa’s. Living siblings then the dead, then lastly Sansa. I realize that they are all probably going to be Sansa-centric with some Jon (well, all siblings would talk about them both) same as with WWWG. Anyway, I hope you like it. There wasn’t much material for Rickon sadly, but the Umber betrayal was too much when in the books they were so loyal. I tried to paint Smalljon in a tolerable light. And I went with Rickon being a warg and mentioned Bran showing him things. Well, this was an experiment, and I hope you guys like it.
> 
> Much love.


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